TheBanyanTree: The Frustrations and the Rewards

[Pat M]

I don’t talk about my frustrations very often but it’s not because there
aren’t any. To live somewhere where virtually no one speaks your language
challenges one’s patience to the max, but I knew that before I returned to
China.

I’m very tolerant of most things. I don’t get upset when there is gravel in
my rice. I know how it happens. Last year, I was at a rural school teaching
English and saw the rice crop drying on the cement courtyard. Some grit is
bound to get into it and as long as I don’t break a tooth, I’ll be okay.

I’ve watched the workers pick out the dead bugs before cooking the rice and
I’ve accepted it as part of life here.  Diced pig’s ears don’t turn my
stomach anymore. When they appear in my bowl, I set them aside and eat the
rest of my dinner.

I no longer feel nauseated when flies land on the cooked rice; I serve
myself and tunnel under the top layer. No problem. And several sheets of
flypaper thick with dead flies sitting next to the food are commonplace.

I like to focus on the positive—for example, the food is much better than
when I first arrived. If I’ve done nothing else, I know I was the catalyst
that resulted in our three-times-a-day white rice and boiled cabbage menu to
change to a more varied, healthier diet. Meat, though, remains scarce but
the 50kg sack of kidney beans I purchased has greatly improved the
children’s diet.  Rice and beans together create a complete protein not
available in either ingredient alone. The children love beans and Chen Bing
and Auntie Hua have started making delicious bean soups sweetened with
Chinese dates.

My own cooking has been mostly successful and I feel proud when I cook for
eighty people.  The children and workers have really enjoyed my bean
concoctions, except for once. I failed when I tried to make split pea soup
without the proper ingredients. The average Chinese doesn’t even know what
ham is and it isn’t available here. I used fresh pork and the soup turned
out a sludge gray green colour. It tasted okay, at least I thought so, but
there was no doubt about it, it looked like vomit.

After my one cooking failure, the workers worried when I said I was going to
cook. Alex would join me in the kitchen and attempt to take charge. I knew
what I wanted to make and didn’t need her to step in and begin bossing me
around. I learn from my mistakes and wasn’t about to make pea soup again.
One day after she dictated how she was going to cook the beans (and it was
different from my vision) I took the ladle from her hand and said, “I am the
cook today. Not you.”

My latest cooking experience was the most frustrating of all. I’d spoken
with the new leader, Timothy, to confirm he’d be going to town and asked him
to pick up some groceries so I could cook dinner.

“The orphanage can pay for the tomatoes and onions.  I’ll pay for the buns,”
I said and handed him some money.

When I arrived at the kitchen in the late afternoon ready to start cooking,
Timothy hadn’t returned with the ingredients. As the minutes ticked by, I
began to fume. Why was everything so difficult? To top it off, Alex arrived
to ‘help me’.

“Auntie,” she said, “are you going to use all of the garlic you peeled?  We
think it is too much.”

The cooking hadn’t even started and she was making judgements and passing
comments.

“I don’t know. I’ll see.”

A few seconds later, my emotions got the best of me.

“Why are you always telling me how to cook?” I snapped. “I know how to
cook!”

She left the kitchen moments later, and I can’t say I was sorry.

But Timothy didn’t return, and 74 hungry children were already hanging
around the kitchen. Now that’s pressure.

Finally a few minutes before 5 (when we usually eat) he arrived.

“I bought the tomatoes and the onions,” he said and handed me two small
bags. “I didn’t buy the buns.”

My face must have looked like a can of worms when I said, “I needed five
times that amount to cook for everyone!”

I took the bags from his hands.

“I will buy the tomatoes and onions tomorrow,” he said.

“I don’t need them tomorrow! I need them now. It’s too late. And the buns
were to go with the beans. Can you pick them up tomorrow?”

Alex arrived and began to giggle when she saw my face. When there is stress,
the Chinese way is to laugh. I rolled my eyes at her. To my relief, she
stayed out of my way and I did the best I could with the few ingredients I
had. The children loved the beans I made, but there weren’t many and they
quickly ran out, but not before I made off with a small bowl for my lunch
the following day.

But the story wasn’t over. The next morning, Timothy arrived at my door.

“I’ll go buy you tomatoes and onions later.”

“But I don’t need them now. I needed them yesterday when I was cooking for
everyone,” I said and thought that was the end of it.  A few hours later,
however, he arrived at my door, and wouldn’t you know it, he held two large
bags.

“Here are your tomatoes and onions. I didn’t have any money left to buy the
buns.”

At that moment, I realized that although his spoken English is quite good,
he understands next to nothing of what I say to him. Future requests, I
decided, would be in writing.

Small things, like getting a haircut, are big challenges. I’ve had terrible
experiences at the hairdressers in China. I have fine hair and not a lot of
it. The hairdressers don’t seem to realize that it needs to be cut
differently from the heavy coarse hair most Chinese have. To avoid another
disaster, I thought I’d get Carol to help me before she left.  I’d seen her
trimming the children’s hair and thought she could do mine, too—just take a
little off the bottom.  I arrived at her door and when she opened it, I
handed her the scissors.

“Hi Carol. I wondered if you could cut off the bad ends,” I said, gesturing
toward my hair.

“I don’t cut hair, Auntie,” she said.

“I know. I just want you to trim it, like you do with the children. The ends
are bad.  I’m going to grow it out so it is all the same length again.”  I
showed her with my fingers how much I wanted her to take off—about half an
inch.

“Just take off a little at the back.”

She brought a chair outside and I saw down. A few minutes later, she was
done. When I stood up, I saw three inches of hair on the cement. Ah well, it
was my own fault. I thanked her profusely and after looking in the mirror
told her she’d done a great job.

So many things don’t make sense here—like why is there a power pole in the
middle of an intersection situated so that drivers don’t know on which side
of it they should drive?

When I first came to Pingguo, there was no bus to town, but a week ago I
received the news there would be buses, not every half hour as would be
reasonable, but every five minutes.  The operation is doomed from the get-go
as there aren’t enough passengers to warrant so many buses. Lately, there
have been up to four empty buses sitting outside the orphanage gate.

And the communication problems are ongoing. Some days the workers seem to
understand me. Other days, they don’t seem to have a clue, no matter how
slowly I speak.  How can they understand one day and not the next?

Life isn’t easy and there are many inconveniences. Some days there is no hot
water. Other days the electricity is off.  I wash my dishes in two basins on
the floor of my room. I don’t have enough cupboard space. But those are
things I can live with.

I’m here with some wonderful children trying to do some good, trying to make
a difference, and I’m proud I can adapt to living in another country that is
so different from Canada. I’m pleased that my Chinese vocabulary is growing.


Some people like an easy life; not me. I like a challenge and the rewards
that come from success. Not many people can say they are living their dreams
but I can.
****
Pingguo China 2008 photos can be viewed at
http://picasaweb.google.com/Ms.Pat.Martin/Pingguo#